A Parody of Letters
by Mrs. A. Hamilton
Summary: After receiving several interesting emails in regard to a review I posted, I felt inspired to pull a John Adams. I am fully aware that he was not successful. Controversial? YES!
1. An Introduction of Sorts

**Author's Note:** For those whom I have offended, this is a sort of apology in a sincere and insincere form. But let me say plainly how you have inspired me! This written work is, in its most purest form, a simple parody. Enjoy!

* * *

In the midst of the dark storms of evil and the black clouds of despair, Christians have a ray of light upon which they can safely depend—a rock, as they have the propensity of calling it, a thing unmovable so as to grant them eternal assurance. This rock, this thing is proclaimed as Christ Jesus—_the_ way, _the_ truth, and _the_ life—the object of their fervent faith upon which rests all their confidence and trust, despite the temptations of a world full of folly, full of vice, and God knows what else. 

What may have started out in earnest may not always end in earnest, so the author encourages the gracious reader to read cautiously: it is not exactly a sort of admonishment, but rather a sort of 'heads up,' as the good ol' chaps tend to quote; a given direction to peruse guardedly, though not without a hint of humour, for, 'in the bigger picture,' as my father would tenderly say, 'it is all rubbish.' And indeed it is.

The indisputable foundation of Christianity is Love. When speaking with the brood of vipers—excuse me, the Pharisees—a feisty lawyer accosted Jesus and demanded:

'Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the law?'

With the utmost humility that no other man possesses, Jesus answered:

'"Love the Lord your God with all your mind." This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: "Love your neighbor as yourself." All the law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.'

Right ho! many Christians cheer. By George, He's done it again! the English gentleman shouts joyfully from the back row.

And so rightfully and by-George-ly He has. But only _He_ has.

The unfortunate tendency that many Christians and non-Christians feel inclined to pursue is the delusional belief that Christians think themselves no longer human and thus devoid of human follies, because they are or have become Christian. In fact, Christians also feel inclined to heed nature's call when it calls, and to eat when hungry, and to drink milkshakes when one has professed a general _indifference_ towards milkshakes. It's not that they, because they are Christian, become a sort of animal—a dog, if you will—that is so happy, writhing with glee, that one can't help but admire its happiness and wonder at the vacant look in its blank eyes. I admit, though we are very happy, we are not stupid, though we make stupid mistakes. He who is without sin may cast the first stone—but first, let me know when you've decided to chuck that rock so that I might politely excuse myself from the line of fire.

In any event, there were two men. They were of the same age, the same height, and the same stock (oh, you know, the Christian middle-class kind). They were even of similar taste in fashion, liking the same buttons, cuffs, cravats, knee breeches, boots, and vests. They differed, however, in their habitual attire of coats and hats. Mr. Passionate Peter preferred the felt hat and redingote and Mr. Candid Paul usually donned a _habit dégagé _and a tall hat, not unlike that of Mr. Darcy, or even his good friend, Mr. Bingley. Mr. Peter also originated from Scotland, and Mr. Paul dwelt in England. Nevertheless, when called forth to give an account of their characters, both parties of friends remarked how extraordinarily opinionated both men were.

Both men were not exceptionally gifted at writing, yet both felt a strong inclination to influence fellow man through written word. Therefore, both Mr. Peter and Mr. Paul contributed to a highly-esteemed pamphlet known by the appellation of _Noctiffian_, a curious sort of leaflet, containing all sorts of fictions, as well as reviews of those fictions. Yet, where Mr. Passionate Peter felt inspired to write, Mr. Candid Paul felt determined to respond.

And thus follows an account on how the two said Christian men met.


	2. The Fated Review

**Author's Note:** Yes! Another chapter completed with the help of excellent and inspiring reviews! I shall respond to them in due time, but for now, let us continue the story of these two remarkable men. Enjoy!

* * *

One fine rainy day, as Mr. Paul sat comfortably at his breakfast table, primly sipping his coffee, while browsing through the latest edition of _Noctiffian_, the gentleman came upon several new additions to the pamphlet. It's been a long time since there were any new stories, Mr. Paul mused happily, and he eagerly dipped into these fresh fictions, whose titles suggested something of the controversial; and being somewhat of a polemicist himself, Mr. Paul readily obliged this daring author. 

Yet, in Mr. Paul's humble opinion, a trace of intelligence must accompany the controversial, and, to Mr. Paul's great disappointment, he found none of the former embellished in the said…well, by George, what was it? It wasn't even a story—it was a sort of editorial consisting of a tiny paragraph, barely five sentences in length.

'What _is_ this rubbish?' Mr. Paul exclaimed.

'Fashion and the Devil,' 'Crimes of the Body,' and other such condemnatory slogans likely to throw the sinful into writhing spasms of guilt and cause immediate conversion were listed under the name of Mr. Passionate Peter, the apparent craftsmen of this contentious verbiage.

'No,' said Mr. Paul, setting down his coffee cup with a determined _clink_. 'This will not do. There is a far better line of attack, and it might do Mr. Peter some good to hear of it. By George, that's it! I shall help him with all of the limited knowledge I possess!'

In fact, Mr. Paul was so delighted with the idea that he instantly snatched up pen and paper (which he always kept within arm's reach) and began to hastily scribble a review, which contained the following:

Dear Mr. Passionate Peter,

If your wish was to reach anybody through your Christian message, I am sorry to say that you failed miserably. You must attempt a different sort of approach, a more moderate one at best. Do not misunderstand me—I sympathize completely with your opinion concerning fashion and morals, but, by George, the biblical verse you cited does not even support your main thesis (if there was a thesis). To establish a logical argument, it would be best to structure your editorial into five paragraphs accordingly—that is the _general_ rule, but not the absolute rule. Your work also contains several spelling errors. And furthermore, editorials do not belong in the _Noctiffian_; the pamphlet is restricted to _fiction_, I'm afraid. I am sorry to say it, Sir, but frankly, you are wasting this pamphlet's space.

Thus, with an elegant flourish, Mr. Candid Paul signed his name to the note and had it sent off immediately. The review was a bit harsh, Mr. Paul admitted, but better to be candid than to be insincere, for insincerity, as he knew, neither helped nor improved anyone. Poor soul! He was soon to realize how abominably cruel his intent was! Oblivious to his evils, Mr. Paul returned to enjoy the remainder of his delectable drink.

Man is terribly reckless—like a famished host at a large dinner party: he can hardly wait until everyone is seated, because only then can he eat; and when he finally finds himself able to do so, he attacks the roast chicken on his plate with both fork and knife at the exact moment that when the fork intends to spear the surface of the meat and the knife cleave the white flesh asunder, both instruments create a sort of pinwheel effect which expertly catapults the poor bird across the table like a flying saucer only to slam into the drinking glasses of the guests, which action in turn launches a domino effect on everything else silver and fragile. Meanwhile, amid the scraping of chairs and crashing of silverware, the host ultimately finds himself in blissful oblivion of the whole catastrophe, because he is, well, searching for that tasty chicken he has just thrown across the room.

And with the same ardent determination did Mr. Candid Paul endeavor to help the said Mr. Passionate Peter, unconscious of any damage he might inflict.


	3. An Answer

**Author's Note:** RoseApprentice, I believe you've inspired me. And, as a side note, I do believe, as the author, I should not only be able to critique but certainly defend what I've written. I am making a statement after all.

* * *

The damage report, if you will, appeared the following morning, again at Mr. Candid Paul's comfortable breakfast table. It was quite unexpected, as Mr. Paul rarely received letters from anyone, least of all from persons associated with the _Nocitiffian_, and the gentleman opened the note with unrestrained delight and anticipation, quite unaware of its contents, which are displayed, at the author's pleasure, here:

Stop wasting your time reading my paragraphs. They were not intended for you to read. You have offended me. I recently moved to England from Scotland a month ago. How do you expect me to have fluent grammar. By the way report me if you like. I DON'T CARE!!!

—Mr. Passionate Peter

Mr. Paul blinked a few times, not certain if the note (which, oddly enough, resembled the said fervent author's previous editorial in punctuation, sentence structure, and length—the Christian message, however, appeared to be lacking) had been, perhaps, misdirected, but finding himself mistaken, he reread the letter.

'By George!' Mr. Paul laughed aloud. 'The fellow's nothing but a fishmonger!'

And yet again did the candid gentleman dive for the roast chicken. If man had learned from his mistakes, it is quite possible that he would have concerned himself with less than half the battles and bloodshed he begot throughout the course of human events. Just imagine—a careless proclamation inspired an entire revolution! If Marie Antoinette had never pronounced, 'Let them eat cake,' she could have prevented the whole hungry French peasantry from making a wild dash towards the Tuillerie palace, and then, upon discovering the queen had not enough for everyone, sharply spinning around in frenzied fury, demanding her head in the name of 'Liberty, Fraternity, and Equality!' Well, not only did poor girl suffer for it—the whole country was forced to lather itself in this outrageous bloodbath, because—by George—there wasn't enough cake!

Yet, the fact remains, that there is something inherently twisted in man, which distorts his perception and disillusions him from the truth. It keeps him fixated on the perishable and fettered to his own fallible understanding; it severs him from peace and ultimately blinds him to everlasting, unchanging, utmost joy. Whatever it is that keeps man in such a depraved state—that which keeps him entangled in illicit sex, lies, deceit, violence, cold-hearted bloodshed, fear, selfishness, half-heartedness, and pride—is surely damning. Even I—as the author of this trivial piece of literature—even I myself am startled when I consider the things which pop into my head…what is the root of this kind of evil thought? whether it be a disagreeable comment about a person's appearance or choice of words, or fantasizing about the woman sitting next to you on a bench in the square—it appears that the absolute truth one could derive from the present state of affairs of the human character is this: no one is righteous; not one.


End file.
